


Starting Over

by wesleysgirl



Series: Sentinel series for Jane Davitt's birthdays [6]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Jane Davitt's birthday 2012.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Starting Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneDavitt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/gifts).



> Jane Davitt's birthday 2012.

“Hey, Chief,” Jim says when Blair gets up the next morning. “I need to talk to you.”

Blair doesn’t like the sound of that at all -- it seems more serious than anything he wants to deal with right then -- but he joins Jim in the kitchen. Jim is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him and the newspaper neatly folded like he’s already read it. “What’s up?” Blair asks.

“About last night,” Jim starts, and Blair waves a hand at him.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Don’t you dare. I can handle about a million things, Jim -- I’ll even make you a list if you want me to -- but if you say last night was a mistake I might have to kill you.”

Jim rolls his eyes, which somehow makes Blair feel better. “I’m not saying it was a mistake. It wasn’t. Okay?” When Blair doesn’t answer right away, Jim reaches across the table and touches Blair’s hand. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

Blair nods. “Okay, okay. What, then?”

“Are you going to listen?” Blair nods again, and Jim goes on. “I think we rushed into this. Which is not, I repeat, _not_ me saying that we shouldn’t have done it. It’s been a crazy couple of days, and I think we needed to connect. But now I think it would be a good idea to take a step back, slow down.”

Blair feels like he’s losing his mind. “Jim, no offense, but you aren’t making any sense.”

“I want to go back to the beginning,” Jim says. “Start over. Together.”

“It’s not like we can pretend we don’t know each other.” Blair pushes his hair back and slouches in his chair. “And I don’t think I’d want to.”

“Will you go out with me?” Jim asks suddenly.

Blair feels his mouth drop open. In retrospect, that probably isn’t the best look, considering their conversation. He presses his lips together, then says, “You want to go steady?”

“No, I want to take you out. On a date. I want to take you to dinner and a movie, and make out in the car. I don’t want to miss out on all that early stuff. I don’t want you to miss out on it.”

When Jim puts it like that, the idea definitely holds some appeal. Still, “Are you sure some little piece of a bullet didn’t end up lodged in your brain?”

Thank God Jim has a sense of humor. He knows that Blair is just screwing around, doesn’t take it personally. “What are you doing Friday night?”

“Going on a first date, apparently,” Blair grumbles, and Jim’s amazing mouth curves upward into a smile.

* * *

“Oh my God,” Blair says, stopping dead in his tracks as he catches sight of Jim coming down the stairs.

Jim stops mid-step. “What? Do I --”

“No, no.” Blair waves his hands around in the air, trying to halt Jim’s words. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t. It’s just -- you look --”

“Good?” Jim suggests. He looks uncertain, and Blair hates that.

“Beautiful,” he says, and the lines around Jim’s eyes and mouth relax. “It’s been a while since I saw you dressed up. I forgot what it was like.”

Jim comes the rest of the way down the stairs from the loft. His color has come back after the accident. “You look pretty good yourself.”

“Me?” Blair glances down at his own clothes. He’s wearing khakis and a dress shirt, and his only nice pair of shoes, but next to Jim there’s no comparison. No amount of ironing has ever made his shirts look the way Jim’s do, smooth and crisp like Jim just stepped out of a magazine or off a fashion runway.

Of course, the foundation of Jim’s gorgeous body underneath the clothes probably has something to do with it.

“You’re beautiful, too, Chief,” Jim says, and Blair forgets to worry about how he looks. “What do you say? You ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Blair agrees. There’s a nervous flutter in his stomach, first-date jitters that he’d never have guessed he’d have considering how long he and Jim have been together, living under the same roof. They know each other inside and out. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

“Okay,” Jim says. He checks his pockets like he always does before leaving the house, then starts for the door. Blair follows him, only to find Jim’s hand on his chest as he pauses in the doorway. “Wait,” Jim says, and pushes him back a step before closing the door in Blair’s face.

Blair blinks and looks at the closed door in confusion.

There’s a knock.

“Um,” Blair says, and opens the door.

“Hi,” Jim says.

“You’re insane, do you know that?” Blair grins. “Good thing for you I happen to like crazy people.”

“Good thing,” Jim agrees. “You’re supposed to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi?” Blair glances back over his shoulder, wondering if he’s supposed to invite Jim in, too.

“You must be Blair Sandburg,” Jim says. He offers Blair his hand to shake, and Blair finds himself going along with it.

“And you must be Jim Ellison. Or is it James?” Blair decides if they’re going to play this game, he’s going to play for keeps. He lets his hand linger on Jim’s, his touch light and teasing.

“It’s Jim.”

Blair steps closer and leans on the door frame, licks his lips. “So what’s on the agenda, big guy?”

Jim is staring at his mouth. Good. “I -- um. Dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” Blair says, looking up at Jim and letting every bit of attraction he feels show on his face. He imagines unbuttoning Jim’s shirt and pushing it aside, and wonders just how much of what he’s thinking Jim is able to read. They’ll have to see if they can figure that out at some point. Not now, though. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Okay,” Jim says, but doesn’t move before visibly shaking himself. “Right, good.” He moves out of the way to let Blair start down the hallway, and one hand settles on the small of Blair’s back, guiding him. It’s not the first time or even the twentieth that Jim has done that, but it feels new. Blair likes it.

By the time they get to the restaurant -- which Jim suggested -- the pretense that this is some kind of blind date has fallen by the wayside. Blair’s glad; not that he doesn’t enjoy a bit of play-acting now and then, but one of the things he loves about Jim is how comfortable they are together, and pretending that’s not true is more work than fun.

Jim actually made reservations, and they have a nice table near a fireplace. It’s one of the more expensive restaurants in the area, one Blair hasn’t been to in years. He’s pretty sure the last time he was here the place had a different name, in fact. He almost wishes it was the kind of place where the menus didn’t have prices, although most people looking at them together probably assume that they’re friends or colleagues or something, not two guys on a first date, which technically they both are and aren’t.

“Hello, gentlemen.” The young woman who comes up to their table with some sliced bread and a dish of herbed olive oil can’t be older than twenty two. Her dark hair is slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck and she’s wearing glasses that Blair suspects might be a fashion accessory. “Can I start you out with something to drink this evening?”

“Blair?” Jim defers to him, which isn’t unusual, but the _look_ Jim is giving him is so warm and affectionate that Blair feels it all the way down into his toes.

“I think I need a minute,” he apologizes to both of them, and the waitress murmurs and goes away.

“You okay?” Jim asks.

“Yeah,” Blair says. “This is just... weird. Not bad-weird, good-weird. But still. Weird.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Jim assures him, reaching for his hand, and Blair gives it willingly. Jim’s hands are big and warm and can take on the world, right? “If it’s too weird. I just thought, I wanted to show you that I take this seriously. You were the one who had the guts to lay it on the line. I don’t want you to think I’m in this because I, I don’t know, didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Or because I wanted to give you something you wanted.”

“If you can read minds and haven’t told me all this time, I’m going to kick your ass,” Blair says.

“I can’t,” Jim says. “But I know you. And a couple of months from now, or whenever things start to settle down and we figure out what we’re going to do with the rest of our lives, I don’t want you feeling like you missed out.”

“I don’t want either of us to miss out,” Blair says, not even realizing until after he’s said it that 1. Jim is right and 2. it’s possible that Jim knows him better than he knows himself. Strangely, that’s not as scary as it would have been with, oh, anyone else on the planet.

“We can go now, if you want to,” Jim says. “But I don’t think you do.”

“I don’t.” Blair becomes aware of the waitress hovering a few tables away like she’s trying to decide if she should come back or not, and he smiles at her and nods.

“Sorry,” she says as she rejoins them. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” She glances around, then leans in a little, lowers her voice. “At the beginning I thought, first date, but now I think I’m wrong.”

Jim shakes his head. “You’re not wrong,” he says. “Long story.” Blair is surprised he shares that much -- Jim can be open as hell when it’s just the two of them, but with strangers he’s usually a lot less candid.

“Whatever the story, it’s okay with me,” she says, and glances around again. “So what would you like to drink? I could recommend some wine?”

“That would be great,” Jim says.

After that, the butterflies in Blair’s stomach settle down again. The wine probably helps, even though he’s careful to stick to one glass because he really doesn’t want to get drunk. He wants to enjoy this. He tries to look at Jim through fresh eyes -- not setting aside what he knows about Jim, that would be impossible, but trying to see him the way someone on a first date would.

Jim is amazing, gorgeous, perfect. His jaw is strong and his lips are thin, but his mouth is generously wide and that makes up for it. His eyes -- they’re Blair’s favorite thing about him. They’re such an incredible pale blue, and when he smiles all these little lines spring up around them. There’s more than a hint of silver coming in at Jim’s temples; Blair likes it. He likes everything about Jim.

He loves everything about Jim. He loves every, tiny detail of Jim’s face. He even loves watching the way Jim’s throat moves when he swallows wine. And now Jim is watching him back. Blair feels his cheeks flush with heat, but he smiles.

“You’re right, it is weird,” Jim says. “We don’t have to do any of that regular first date stuff. Where do you work, do you have any brothers or sisters, what do you like to do in your free time.”

“What’s your sign?” Blair suggests. “Yeah, I can’t say I miss that part. Hey, salad.”

“Here you are, gentlemen,” their waitress says, setting down their plates. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” Blair says. Suddenly hungry, he lifts his fork and takes a bite of salad. The leaves are expertly coated with a thin layer of some kind of vinaigrette, tangy and a little spicy, different. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?” Jim is poking at his with his fork like he thinks it might attack him.

“It won’t kill you to eat something green once in a while,” Blair points out.

“Okay, Sandburg, you’re my date, not my mother.” Jim takes a bite and Blair sips at his wine, letting it wash away the sharp taste of the salad dressing so that he can get hit with it all over again.

When he looks up, Jim is sitting frozen in place, fork still in his hand and an expression of panic on his face. He’s pale around the lips and there’s something really, seriously wrong here. Blair drops his own fork and shifts over to the chair next to Jim’s, reaching for him. “Jim. Talk to me.”

Jim’s eyes roll sideways to meet his, trying to communicate something that Blair, damn it, can’t understand. Jim’s throat is working and his hand gropes for Blair’s, squeezes it.

“Okay,” Blair says. He keeps his voice low because he wants Jim to stay calm, not because he cares what anyone else in the restaurant might think. “Water?” The barest shake of Jim’s head. “You want me to call an ambulance?” Another shake. “Fresh air?”

Finally, a nod. Focusing on nothing but Jim, Blair shoves his chair back, tugs Jim to his feet, and heads for the door, dragging Jim along with him. He knows people have to be giving them confused looks, and he mutters “Sorry,” when he bumps into a man standing near the entryway.

The cool air outside seems to hit Jim like a slap; as soon as he inhales, all the strength goes out of him, and Blair has no warning. They both go down onto the pavement, Blair unable to do more than slow and control the collapse. He guides Jim to lean back against the wall. “Okay, okay. Breathe, Jim. Was it something in the food?” It’s a stupid question, there’s no other explanation.

Jim nods. There are tears in his eyes but he seems too intent on breathing to blink them away. Blair does his best to soothe Jim with touch and sound, and doesn’t even realize that their waitress is standing over them until her shoe appears in his peripheral vision.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” she asks.

“No,” Jim rasps, and the moment of relief Blair feels at hearing his voice is immediately overshadowed by the rough, painful sounding cough that follows.

“I think we’re okay,” Blair says, touching Jim’s face and willing the return of the tingling phenomenon that had healed Jim’s spine but feeling nothing. “Breathe, nice and slow.”

“Is it a food allergy?” the waitress asked. “You didn’t say. Does he have an epipen?”

“It’s not an allergy,” Blair says absently, not looking at her. “More like a sensitivity. It’s hard to know what will set him off. Could you get us a glass of water?” He isn’t sure Jim really needs one, he just wants to get rid of her.

“Of course.”

As soon as she’s gone, Blair says, “If you want to take advantage of this moment to make a break for it, we’d better go now,” and Jim gives him a look of such gratitude Blair’s heart skips a beat.

They make it to the car, where Blair eases Jim into the passenger seat and rifles in his pocket for the keys. “Hey,” Jim protests, then coughs again. “I don’t... put out on the first date, Sandburg.”

“Shut up,” Blair says congenially. “And stop talking, you sound like shit. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

Jim shakes his head. “It’s getting better. Wonder what it was.”

“I’ll call later and ask,” Blair says, starting up the car. “Just for future reference. Plus I don’t want them to think this was some elaborate plan to dine and dash.”

“Didn’t do much dining,” Jim rasps. “Sorry.”

“The only thing you have to be sorry for is apologizing when it wasn’t your fault,” Blair tells him. “So cut it out. Life is full of ups and downs, man. You’ve got to learn to roll with the punches.” He glances at Jim. “You sure you can breathe okay? You were pretty white for a minute there.”

“Sexy as hell,” Jim sighs, and Blair reaches out and pats his knee.

“Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters. We can always go on another date.”

When they get back to the loft, Blair points at the couch and orders Jim to sit. Jim obeys, and Blair goes to get him some ice water. He also grabs a box of crackers from the cabinet in case Jim needs something plain to absorb whatever it was that bothered him. Jim is sitting with his head tipped back on the couch and Blair doesn’t need to be a Sentinel to feel the waves of misery that are coming off of him.

“Hey,” he says, and sits down carefully so he doesn’t jostle the cushions. “Drink this? It might make you feel better.”

Jim takes the glass and sips from it, then gives it back to Blair. “Thanks.” Slowly, he tilts sideways until his head ends up on Blair’s shoulder. “You smell good.”

“Do I?” It makes Blair smile. “How are you feeling? You want to go to bed? Maybe when you wake up in the morning you’ll be back to normal.”

“Normal? What’s that?” Jim doesn’t sound depressed exactly, more tired, which is understandable.

“Yeah, of course, what was I thinking?” Blair gets an arm behind Jim and strokes a hand along Jim’s upper arm. “You’re about a hundred times better than normal even on a bad day.”

Jim sighs. “TV?”

Blair knows Jim doesn’t want to talk about this, and pushing the issue would just result in a pissed off Sentinel and a date ending in an argument. The TV is just a cover, but right then Blair is okay with that. He turns it on and flips through the channels until he finds something Jim likes, then moves over so that Jim can use his lap as a pillow.

They’re together. That’s enough.

* * *

He takes advantage of Jim sleeping in the next morning and makes breakfast. A real breakfast -- coffee, fried potatoes, eggs, toast, fresh fruit. He sticks to stuff he knows Jim has never had a sensory problem with -- the last thing he wants is a repeat of last night. He thinks he’s being quiet but by the time he creeps up the stairs with the tray Jim is awake and smiling at him.

“What are you up to?” Jim asks.

“Breakfast in bed,” Blair says. “Can you sit up a little bit? I think it’d be more impressive, as romantic gestures go, if I don’t spill everything all over you.”

Jim cooperates. He’s been doing that a lot over the past few days, Blair knows. He probably ought to be cataloguing it on paper and not just in his head. Setting the tray down across Jim’s lap, he retreats to the foot of the bed and crawls up to sit on Jim’s other side.

“We’re sharing, right?” Jim asks, gesturing at the food.

Blair shakes his head. “I was the official taste tester the whole time I was cooking -- couldn’t eat another bite.” He’s always had the tendency to eat while he’s working in the kitchen, probably because his mother encouraged it. He’s happy to watch Jim eat. “How are you feeling? Any lingering weirdness?”

“I don’t think so,” Jim says. “And I know it wasn’t my fault, but I still feel bad about last night. I swear I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Okay.” Blair has given this a lot of thought, and although he’d like to suggest that he be the one to choose the plans for their next date, he knows that if he does Jim will take it personally, like a criticism. He seriously doesn’t want to chance Jim feeling criticized. That’s not his goal here. His goal is to make Jim feel better. “Any time you want. Just tell me when.”

“Tonight?” Jim says, munching on toast.

“Sure. No! Damn it, I can’t. I have a work thing. Shit.” Blair feels more guilty than he should, probably.

“It’s okay,” Jim tells him. “Maybe after we could catch a movie, if it’s not too late? I’ll buy you popcorn.”

“Well, with an offer like that, how could I possibly refuse?”

* * *

“Blair,” Jim murmurs in his ear, and Blair sighs and snuggles a little closer to Jim’s warmth. “Blair, wake up.”

There’s noise and movement around them, and Blair reluctantly opens his eyes and sits up, yawning and trying to figure out what’s going on. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he groans as he realizes they’re at the movie theater and he’s just slept through pretty much the whole movie.

He’s also pretty sure he drooled on Jim’s shirt.

“I am so sorry, man,” he says, glad that the low light in the theater is at least hiding how red his face must be. “I guess I should have had that coffee after all.” Jim had offered to buy him one earlier and he’d refused, thinking he needed to get some sleep that night.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim says. “It was kind of cute.”

God, _cute_. Blair groaned again and hid his face between Jim’s neck and shoulder as people in the aisle shuffled past.

“Hey there,” Jim says, awkwardly, and pats his hair. “Chief.”

“Just let me die of embarrassment in peace,” Blair says.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jim says. “Well. Nothing for _you_ to be... embarrassed about.” He sounds funny, and Blair, always ready to be more focused on Jim than on himself, straightens up and looks at him.

“What?”

“You’ve been draped all over me for the past hour,” Jim says. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably and Blair realizes that he’s hard. “Kind of impossible to avoid.”

Blair tries to hide his grin because he doesn’t _want_ Jim to be embarrassed, even if it’s flattering as hell to apparently be so irresistible. “Sorry.” He takes Jim’s hand and holds it -- almost everyone has left the theater at that point -- and says, “I like the credits. You don’t mind staying ‘til the end, do you?”

Jim catches on fast that Blair is offering him some time for his erection to subside. “No, I don’t mind. I like the credits, too.”

They wait until the lights come back up, and by then Jim seems to have gotten control of himself.

“I didn’t know you were so tired,” he says as they cross the parking lot. “You could have said.”

“I would have if I’d known,” Blair says. “I guess the dark just got to me.” Of course, he’d been up early that morning and had a busy day.

In the front seat of Jim’s pick up, Blair is reaching to fasten his seatbelt when Jim’s hand settles around the back of his neck and tugs. Blair looks up at him. Jim’s eyes are soft as he leans in and presses his mouth to Blair’s, first gently and then, when Blair proves himself a willing participant, a little more eagerly. Blair holds onto the front of Jim’s shirt. Jim’s mouth tastes like salt and he does crazy-making things with his tongue that already has Blair’s cock hardening inside his own pants.

“We could have done this in the theater,” he says when Jim pulls away to nuzzle at his hair and ear.

“I prefer making out in private,” Jim says.

“Is that what we’re doing? Making out?” Blair gasps as Jim’s lips tease at his earlobe.

Jim kisses him again, taking his time before answering. He slides his hand down Blair’s chest and stomach and settles it on his erection and Blair makes a sound that might be a whimper. “I thought making out in a car was a second date kind of thing.”

“Yeah?” Christ, Jim’s hand is kneading Blair’s cock through his pants. It feels amazing. “Like I’m fifteen again.”

“Chief,” Jim says reprovingly. “Were you making out in cars at fifteen? Isn’t that a little young?”

“Stop talking,” Blair tells him. “It’s interfering with your ability to kiss me.”

“Oh, right,” Jim says. “Sorry about that.”

Blair forgets everything else but the feel of Jim’s mouth on his own, the teasing touch of Jim’s hands -- only over his clothes, and the restraint of that goes from teasing to maddening in a surprisingly short time -- and the way Jim murmurs his name. It’s hearing Jim whisper “Blair” that really gets to him, has him squirming until finally he gives up and climbs awkwardly over and onto Jim’s lap, straddling him. It’s not the best position, he can’t rub off on Jim’s spectacular stomach the way he’d like to, but it’s hot and gives him a sense of control.

He can writhe against Jim, pressing down on Jim’s erection until Jim gasps into his open mouth, grabs onto his ass. He feels suspended in time; outside the truck, the world is continuing on as normal, but here, inside the cab, time has stopped. Their breath is fogging on the insides of the glass. No one can see them. This place is his and Jim’s, no one else’s.

It isn’t the first time Blair has felt like together they create something more than themselves. It’s amazing. Blair wants to kiss Jim until they can’t be separated anymore.

Startled at the thought, he pulls back and looks at Jim in alarm.

“What?” Jim says, breathless and concerned. His hands slide to Blair’s sides and support him. “Blair, what? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Blair admits. “This is... this is intense. Jim, what is this? What are we doing?”

Jim swallows; the fine lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows are creased. “I think you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“Okay,” Blair says. “Right. Um, hang on.” Reluctantly, he climbs back off of Jim; he has to adjust his dick inside his pants as he sits down or risk permanent injury. He’s so fucking turned on, but he’s more than a little confused, too.

“Second thoughts?” Jim asks.

“On top of second thoughts,” Blair agrees. “But not like that. Do you --” He hesitates, which is stupid. If he’s going to worry about saying things Jim might think are crazy, he’d have to have started years ago. “Does anything happen, when we’re...?”

“Like this?” Jim asks ruefully, adjusting his own cock.

“Not that.” Blair is exasperated, trying to find the words to describe something that might be impossible to describe. “When you were in the hospital.”

“With irreparable spinal cord damage that turned out to be not so irreparable?” Jim reaches out and brushes his fingertips against Blair’s chest. “Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to _us_ ,” Blair corrects him. “You see? That’s what I mean. When we’re together, there’s this _thing_. Like, it’s bigger than us, or... what would happen if two people could merge together into one person.”

“I was kind of hoping that was where this whole date thing was leading,” Jim says, lifting an eyebrow, and Blair smacks him. “Hey!”

“I’m not talking about _sex_. I’m talking about _this_ , this Sentinel/Guide thing, what it _means_.”

“You’re a better judge of what it means than I am.” Jim turns sideways and looks at him steadily like he thinks Blair is going to tell him something important, something earth shattering. “Is there anything in your research about Sentinels and Guides having relationships like this?”

“Sure.” Blair is glad to step back on to familiar ground. “Not always -- I mean, it’s not like it’s a _requirement_. But it’s a thing. Usually with, you know, heterosexual couples, but same sex couples aren’t unprecedented.”

Jim snorts. “I can always tell you’re feeling better when you start using big words like ‘unprecedented.’” He toys with the hem of Blair’s shirt. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Is this unprecedented for you?”

“I know you know the Sentinel/Guide thing is, so I have to assume you’re talking about the gay thing, but we talked about that before.” Blair can tell by looking at Jim’s face that it wasn’t enough. “Yes, I slept with a couple of guys here and there. But it was never serious, for me or for them.”

“Not like this.” Jim isn’t asking a question, but Blair can hear that he needs reassurance.

“Not like this. You and me, this is different. That’s what I’m saying, man.” He wants to keep talking, but a yawn sneaks up on him, overtakes him.

“Think it’s time to get you home, Chief,” Jim says, his hand cupping Blair’s chin briefly. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“You’re so full of it,” Blair tells him. “You have that meeting with Simon in the morning.”

Jim makes a face. “Oh, shit, you’re right. Why did you have to remind me? I was in denial.”

“It was your idea in the first place.” Blair puts his seatbelt on for real this time. “You can cancel, or change your mind. Once Simon finds out what you’ve got planned, he’s going to wish you had.”

“I know. That’s the main reason I’m not looking forward to it.”

Blair sighs and looks at Jim’s hands on the steering wheel. “You don’t have to do it. I mean, you can think about it some more. You don’t have to give your notice now, if you aren’t ready.”

Shaking his head, Jim says, “It’s not fair on the department to put it off. Simon needs time to arrange for a replacement before my short term disability is up, and...”

“And?”

“And I guess I think if I wait too long I might change my mind.” Jim glances at him. “Not that I want to. I just feel like there’s something else out there for us, you know? I don’t know what, but I think... maybe we can find it.”

Blair doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. The truth is, he has no fucking clue if Jim leaving the force is the right thing to do, or what’s going to come next for them. Mostly, he knows that Jim’s senses put him head and shoulders above everyone else.

“I know, stupid, right?” Jim says.

“No. God, no, not stupid at all. Jim -- you have to know that I don’t _care_. Wherever you want to go, whatever job you want or don’t want... I’m there. I’m with you, one hundred percent.”

The look Jim gives him is warm and grateful. “Yeah, I know. If I didn’t, I don’t think I’d be able to walk away from the job.”

“Maybe it’d be better to look at it as walking toward something new,” Blair suggests, then yawns again. “Jeez, sorry. I swear it’s not the conversation.” He feels bad for being so tired even though there’s nothing he can do to change it at this point. Well, except sleep. Even the chilled glass of the window against his head feels like a reasonable pillow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim says. “We’ve got time, right?”

“Right,” Blair says, not sure if it’s true. He closes his eyes despite himself. “We’ve got time.”

* * *

What he doesn’t have, he realizes the next morning standing in the empty living room, is an alarm clock that sets itself. He’d been too out of it the night before to remember to slide the switch over, and now it’s half an hour past the time Jim was supposed to meet with Simon and the loft is too quiet and Blair isn’t with Jim, and that’s just... well, it’s just _wrong_.

He can’t call, because Jim would _not_ appreciate being interrupted, and he doesn’t know if Jim is planning on coming home, after, or if he’s going somewhere. Blair settles for grading some papers, which requires enough brain power that it distracts him and helps the time pass. Still, he’s grateful when he hears Jim’s key in the lock and he stands up as Jim comes in. “Hi. How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Jim says. He hangs up his coat and comes over to Blair and hugs him. “Simon’s going to put the paperwork in motion, but he wants me to think about it some more before I sign anything. I told him I would.”

“That’s fair.” Blair’s jaw moves against Jim’s chest where it’s pressed to it.

“He tried to talk me out of it,” Jim says.

“I’m not surprised. You’re the best cop he has.”

Jim snorts and pulls back, holding Blair’s face between his hands. “Not that you’re biased.”

“It’s true whether I’m biased or not,” Blair points out. “Did he yell?”

Jim sighs. “It might have been easier if he had. But I think he gets it.” He hesitates, then adds, “He knows. About us.”

“You told him?”

“No. He just... knows. Guess maybe neither of us was as subtle as we thought.”

Blair lifts himself onto his toes so he can kiss Jim. “I wasn’t really going for subtle.”

“Apparently I was going for clueless,” Jim says, then glances over Blair’s shoulder. “Hey, you were working.”

“Nah. I was distracting myself from worrying about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jim tells him. “Been taking care of myself for a long time.”

“I don’t worry about you because you need someone to do it; I do it because I can’t help it. Because... I love you.” It’s always been so easy for Blair to say what’s on his mind, but he’s still finding those three words a challenge.

Jim smiles. He has a quick, easy grin when something amuses him, but a true smile is more rare, so Blair knows to treasure it. “Yeah, I know. And I know how lucky I am.”

Blair hugs Jim tightly, then moves away to straighten up the mess his work has become. “Let me get this cleaned up and we can do something, okay? Do you want to do something?”

“I had an idea,” Jim says, going into the kitchen. “I know this’ll sound like I’m encroaching into your territory --”

“Jim, I’m not really the kind of guy who _has_ territory,” Blair interrupts.

Jim turns and rolls his eyes to heaven. “Except where conversation is concerned. Would you let me finish?”

“Right,” Blair says meekly. “Sorry.”

“After what happened at the hospital, I want to try a little experiment. See if we can do it again.”

“I assume you don’t mean the part where you were shot through the spine,” Blair says. Thinking about it in those terms makes him feel more than a little sick, even though he knows what Jim is getting at and has been thinking it himself. If together they can heal Jim when he’s hurt, that’s a big deal. It’s important. “Yeah, okay. What were you thinking?”

“Start small, work our way up?” Jim says, and slides a knife from the block on the counter.

“Whoa, wait!” Blair drops the papers he’s still holding and goes over to Jim. “Wait a minute, okay? Give me that.” It’s stupid to try to take a knife from someone, but he does anyway, and Jim lets him. “When you say small, what do you mean, exactly?”

“Just a little cut. A nick.” Jim says. “I’m pretty sure you know the definition of the word ‘small,’ Chief.”

“Okay, but I’m doing it.” If Blair is the one to make the cut -- _nick_ \-- he can make sure it really _is_ small. But as soon as he presses the tip of the blade to Jim’s forearm, he chickens out. “No, no way. I can’t. This wasn’t in the job description.”

Jim holds his hand out for the knife and Blair gives it back to him. “I’ll do it.” He makes the cut quickly, before Blair can spend any more time stressing out about it. The sight of Jim’s blood is still alarming, though, and Blair hastily grabs a clean dish cloth to hold against the small wound.

“Why did I agree to this?” he asks.

“Because you’re every bit as curious as I am,” Jim says. “If not more so. Maybe we should sit down before we try this.”

Right. Blair had forgotten about the whole passing out thing. “Okay.”

Neither of them says anything as they settle down into chairs next to each other and Blair wraps his hand around Jim’s wrist. He can remember what it felt like before -- the warm tingle, the sensation of something leaving him through his skin. Taking slow, deep breaths, he tries to replicate how it felt, imagines the small cut on Jim’s arm sealing itself up. First he tries healing it from the inside, then from the outside, but nothing happens.

“It’s not working,” he says finally, looking up at Jim’s face.

“Yeah. Is there something different this time?”

“A hundred things,” Blair counters. “You aren’t in a hospital bed, it’s a minor injury -- it’ll probably heal in a week without a bandaid, you don’t need me for this.” His hand, still resting lightly on Jim’s wrist, is trembling, but there’s no hint of the pins and needles he’s been hoping for.

“Chief,” Jim says gently. “I _do_ need you for this. I need you for everything.”

“I wanted to be able to do this, too.” He hadn’t even realized until now how _much_ he wanted this to work. He doesn’t want to think it was some kind of fluke. Part of him is even worried that in a year or two he’s going to convince himself it wasn’t real, that Jim healing was just a result of time and nature and luck.

“Maybe it doesn’t work unless it’s serious.” Jim turns his arm so his palm slides underneath Blair’s.

“In that case, I hope it never works again,” Blair says fervently. He tightens his fingers on Jim’s and brings Jim’s hand up to his mouth, kisses Jim’s knuckles.

“Come here,” Jim says, tugging at him. There isn’t anywhere closer to go, really, but Jim is determined and the next thing Blair knows he’s on Jim’s lap.

“Hey,” he says, but it isn’t much of a protest because Jim is solid and warm and has both arms wrapped around him, nose pressed to Blair’s shirt.

“You smell good,” Jim says.

“So you’ve said.” Blair is smiling as he lifts Jim’s face and kisses him. “Oh, wait, I forgot. We’re not supposed to be doing this.”

“We’re not?”

“No, remember? We have to date.” Blair regrets the words as soon as he speaks them, but Jim doesn’t seem upset by the gentle teasing.

“I might have been wrong about that.” Jim’s hand is already tangled in the curls at the nape of Blair’s neck.

“Hmm?” Blair lets his lower lip drag slowly along the edge of Jim’s ear.

“We’ve never done anything the normal way, right? Why start now?”

Blair bites with careful pressure on Jim’s ear lobe. He can feel Jim’s cock hardening under his thigh. “Seems like we’re starting _something_ now.”

“You,” Jim says, “are driving me crazy. I want to take you upstairs and strip you.” Blair shivers; Jim isn’t doing much more than touching him through his clothes and he’s already desperate for more. “Want to suck you off.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Want to fuck you.”

“Then stop talking and start _doing_ ,” Blair says shakily, and then Jim is leading him toward the stairs.

Jim’s sheets are amazing against Blair’s bare skin. He can feel the cool slide of it against his ass, the prickle of his leg hairs being pushed in the wrong direction, the dampness forming in the slit of his cock. Jim finishes dropping his own clothes to the floor -- Blair reminds himself to tease the usually neat Jim about this later -- and stands there looking down at Blair. Blair is comfortable enough with himself; he isn’t an exhibitionist, but he’s okay being naked in front of other people. Now, though, he can almost feel Jim’s eyes on him, moving across his skin.

“Are you gonna stand there all night?” he asks.

“No,” Jim says. He doesn’t move. “What would you do if I did?”

“I think I’d have to crawl over and climb myself some Jim Ellison like a tree,” Blair says, illustrating. Kneeling on the mattress, the discrepancy between his height and Jim’s is different. Jim’s cock, flushed with arousal, presses against Blair’s sternum. Blair’s hands slide around to Jim’s ass, cupping the solid muscle. “God, I love you so much,” Blair whispers.

Jim smiles and touches Blair’s jaw, rubs a thumb along Blair’s lower lip. “Love you, too. Your mouth.”

“What, this?” Blair leans and takes the head of Jim’s cock between his lips, licks the curved skin along the ridge. He’s aching with the need to rub himself off on Jim’s body, but he can’t suck Jim and do that at the same time. He drops a hand down to stroke his erection instead, using the other to steady Jim as he fills his mouth with Jim’s cock, skin saliva skin and the sharp taste of Jim’s desire.

There are dozens of thoughts in his head as he blows Jim, things he’d like to say but can’t what with his mouth being otherwise occupied. He wants to tell Jim how hot he is, how Jim should fuck him _now_ , how Jim is beautiful and amazing and if someone told Blair he could only see one other person for the rest of his life, it would be Jim.

“Stop,” Jim says. His voice shakes and he pulls back, pushing Blair down onto the bed and lying next to him, touching him. Blair feels like Jim must when his senses are dialed up, like the world is a hundred times brighter and louder than usual. Every gentle brush of Jim’s fingers across Blair’s skin wakes him up, draws desperate sounds from him. Jim opens him with careful, talented fingers and lots of lube, until by the time Jim fumbles for a condom and pushes inside him, Blair has come close to forgetting his own name.

Not Jim’s, though.

“God, don’t --” he says, and Jim stills. “No, don’t stop.” His chest heaves for air. “How do you stand it?” His thighs are trembling and Jim is inside him. Inside him.

“Blair...” Jim looks worried; Blair hooks a leg around the back of Jim’s knee in case he’s thinking of doing something stupid like pulling away.

“I can feel everything,” he breathes.

The fine lines around Jim’s eyes relax. He leans down and kisses Blair, pushes deeper, and Blair responds by arching himself upward, shaking. It’s true, he can feel everything and all of it is Jim, slick and huge inside him.

Jim thrusts slowly, arms braced on either side of Blair. The mattress dips with their shifting weight and Blair’s cock regains the hardness it had lost when Jim entered him. It feels like all the desire he’s ever felt is gathering, swelling. He wants to close his eyes to focus on it, but he can’t look away from Jim’s face. Being with Jim like this is something he’d despaired of, and now it’s all real and amazing and shit, Blair is coming, biting down on his lip and clutching at Jim’s hips.

“Blair, fuck, _Blair_.” Jim loses whatever control he’d had and thrusts faster, more roughly, until he groans and lowers his weight onto Blair, sweaty and gasping. Blair runs his hands over Jim’s shoulders and back.

“You okay?” he asks after a minute of quiet, and Jim grunts and pulls away, getting rid of the condom.

“I’m an idiot,” Jim says.

“What?” Blair laughs, because it’s clear Jim isn’t entirely serious.

“That whole thing about putting this off until we’d dated. What was I thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Blair manages to roll onto his side, trying not to wince visibly. “I thought it was a nice idea. Gallant.”

“Idiotic,” Jim snorts. “We could have been doing this instead. I might not let you get out of bed for a couple of days, just to warn you.” He trails his fingers along Blair’s chest and Blair murmurs appreciatively.

“Good to know. Here, move a little.” Blair curls closer to Jim and uses his solid shoulder as a pillow. “That’s better.” His heart is still beating too fast, but it’s slowing down. He’s grateful for the comfort of Jim’s mattress and the warmth of Jim’s skin. The little cut on Jim’s arm has almost scabbed over.

“So,” Jim says after a few minutes. It’s the one-word lead in to a conversation he isn’t sure Blair is going to like. “I had an idea.”

“I’m pretty sure we already concluded your ideas are bad,” Blair says lightly, but he lifts his head and kisses the corner of Jim’s mouth, then lies down again.

“This one’s different,” Jim says. “I hope.”

“Okay, big guy. Lay it on me.”

“I thought, maybe.” Jim pauses. His arm is curled under and around Blair, holding him. “We should think about moving? To a new place. _Our_ place.”

Blair isn’t sure where this is coming from. “You think we should move.”

“Maybe. If you wanted to.” Jim’s other hand settles on top of Blair’s. “I just thought, a house with a yard.”

“Because you’ve been hankering to spend weekly time with a lawn mower?”

“You could have a garden. Grow organic vegetables.”

Blair snorts. “I’d be lucky if I could figure out which end to plant.” It isn’t true, but something about the conversation amuses him.

“An office? For all your research. A whole wall of bookshelves.”

“To collect dust and make you sneeze.”

“If you don’t want to...” Jim starts, and Blair pushes himself up so Jim can see his face.

“Are you crazy? Of _course_ I want to.” He kisses Jim hard on the mouth, wanting to express his delight in more than words, and the happiness reflected in Jim’s eyes is enough for a lifetime. “Should I find a realtor? I can run down to the grocery store and get one of those real estate magazines --”

“Hey,” Jim says, laughing and holding Blair’s hair back away from his face. “Breathe. We’ve got time, okay?”

He rubs the edge of his thumb along Blair’s cheek. Looking into his eyes is like seeing forever.

“Yeah,” Blair agrees, and now he really means it. “We’ve got time.”


End file.
